Tarzan and the Lesson
by Wai-Jing Waraugh
Summary: Based on Disney's 'Legend of Tarzan' sequel tv series. Tarzan and Jane are visited by friends: Basuli and Naoh, a married couple from the Waziri tribe. Naoh reveals to Jane that as son of the Waziri chief, Basuli can be arrogant; his father hopes he will learn humility from Tarzan's example. But when Basuli provokes the jungle's worst predators, it may be a lesson learned too late.
1. Chapter 1

_Author's note: Another _Tarzan_ story. I know, three at one time is excessive. And this one includes characters from the _'Legend of Tarzan'_ series, who no one probably knows. Sorry. As compensation, I have written - and plan to write - some sweet scenes of Tarzan and Jane doing domestic things together, as a married couple. I really loved how their relationship was handled in the tv show, and wanted to elaborate on it a bit._

_I have a few other _Tarzan_ fics in progress, and ideas for more; so if you like this story, please check them out as well. Reviews are very welcome; I often reply to them (eventually), so please make sure you are signed in if you want to hear back from me. I have pretty much all of the second chapter already written, so if the response is good, I'll post it up soon._

_Enjoy!_

_~ W.J._

* * *

**Tarzan and the Lesson**

**Chapter One**

A bright beam of sunlight shone full in Jane's eyes, waking her up.

Murmuring a sleepy protest to herself, she scrunched up her nose, scrubbing tiredly at her face with the heel of her hand. Then she woke up enough to realize that this was exactly what she had wanted.

The sun's first rays were peeping through a gap in the curtain that screened their 'nest-area' from the rest of their tree house. The night before, she had purposefully left their bedroom 'door' slightly ajar, with this very result intended.

She glanced furtively over her shoulder. Her husband lay in the bed beside her.

Given how active and alert he always was whilst awake, it was a pleasurable novelty to see him so utterly relaxed. His long limbs were stretched out in full repose. His head was cushioned by a loose pile of leaves.

He had never taken to pillows. During their first few nights in the tree house, just starting to live together as a married couple, he hadn't been able to sleep properly. Not until he had leapt out through the window into the night, returning moments later with an armload of fresh green foliage. It reminded him of his childhood home, she supposed. After more than twenty years as one of the apes, he was used to nesting out in the open. The leaves had bothered her a little at first, but now she was accustomed to them. Their soft rustling as he shifted in his sleep no longer woke her, and their scent was very pleasant - fresh and earthy. Much like him.

His face was turned away from her, so she couldn't tell if his eyes were open; but she could see his chest rise and fall with a steady, languid rhythm.

Jane smiled to herself in satisfaction. It was just as well; she had plans, and she needed him to stay asleep for a little while longer. She knew that he had spent the previous evening rough-housing with Terk and Tantor (well, mostly Terk) for old time's sake. If there was any day when he might be worn-out enough to sleep in, today was likely that day.

Getting up quietly enough not to rouse him was a challenge. His senses were so keen; after years of waking at the slightest sound that might be a stalking leopard, he was a very light sleeper. Slowly, cautiously, she inched her way over to the edge of the bed, easing off the covers as she did so. Carefully as she could, she set one foot on the floor, then the other. He didn't stir.

Triumphantly applauding herself inside, Jane manoeuvred fully out of the bed, and began to tip-toe across the room. She made it as far as the door; then a voice, coming from behind and slightly above her, said:

"You're up early."

Startled, she spun round, and found herself looking straight into her husband's face.

He was level with her, albeit upside-down, hanging from the beam that ran above the doorway. Even wrong-way-up, she plainly saw the joking glint in his eye, the mischievous quirk in his smile.

"So are you, from the look of it," she replied, with wry humour in her voice. She used it to mask the irritation she secretly felt. "You were only pretending to sleep, weren't you?"

He raised - from her view, dropped - a hand to sheepishly rub the back of his neck. "Well, you were trying so hard not to wake me, it seemed like I should." He eyed her curiously. "Why _were_ you trying not to wake me?"

She gave a sigh of half-hearted resignation. "Well, if you must know... it was going to be a surprise..."

"A surprise?"

He straightened his knees, unhooking his legs from the beam and flipping in mid-air to land neatly in front of her. Dangling from branches was almost as natural to him as standing upright; yet he got rid of even this minor distraction, making sure he gave her his full attention.

_Just another of the little things that she loved about him..._

"Yes," she said, giving him a chagrined look. "You are rather hard to keep secrets from, love. I was going to... well, I thought you might like it if I brought you breakfast in bed."

He tilted his head, mouth tugged to one side in a confused look. _He used to make that face at our old slide projector,_ Jane thought to herself, chuckling inwardly.

"Breakfast in bed?" he repeated.

"Yes. It's something that couples in England do for one another. One person gets to stay in bed, while the other makes them breakfast and brings it to them, without them having to get up."

"But I don't mind getting up," he pointed out, looking a little perplexed.

"I could see that," Jane replied, with a smile. "But, well, I was going to save you the trouble."

"Wouldn't that mean you'd have to do all the work?"

She reached up and put a hand on each of his shoulders; he was frowning down at her, trying his best to understand a concept that was foreign to him. She was quick to reassure him. "Yes," she replied, with gentle patience. "That's the whole point. I wanted to do something for you, for a change. You're always doing things for me."

"But I like to do things for you," he said, giving her the most sincere smile she had ever seen on any face.

"So you say," she retorted, raising a hand to lightly chuck him under the chin. "Don't you think, then, that I might enjoy doing something for you?"

"Oh." He realized, far too late, that he had unwittingly done the wrong thing. "I can go back to bed-"

He took a step away from her; she reached out and caught him by the shoulder. "No, no, no. If you're already up, there's not much point. We'll just have breakfast the normal way."

He faced her with a rueful expression. Taking one of her hands in his two, he held it with a gentleness that one wouldn't expect to come with such strength. "I'd rather be in the kitchen with you than in bed without you."

She couldn't help but giggle at that, face flushing with pleasure. "Oh, you great flatterer!" she said, using her free hand to coyly fiddle with her hair.

He had a habit of outright saying whatever he felt in such a simple, straightforward manner. It was utterly charming, yet always made her feel a bit flustered; a proper Englishman would be honest, but not quite so forthright. She wished she could express herself as freely as he did. Instead, she attempted these ridiculous acts of well-meaning subterfuge, with limited success.

_If only she had such an effective way of conveying to him how much she loved him..._

She lifted the hand that he held, bringing his two with it; she raised the topmost to her lips, planting a kiss upon the pronounced ridge of knuckles that ran along its back. She thought she saw his eyes soften a little, take on a new shade of tenderness, as he watched her do it.

_Well, that seemed to work rather well._

"Come on," she said, keeping hold of his hand; she used it to tug him through the doorway after her. "I'll make us some breakfast. I thought I might bake a loaf of banana bread."

His elated smile grew a bit wider at that. It looked as though she had managed a clear victory after all; she knew it was his favourite.

"While you do that," he said, dropping her hand with a little reluctance, "I'll fetch some fresh water, to make the tea."

"But you don't like tea," she pointed out as he picked up her poor, much-battered tea pot. He paused with one foot upon the window sill.

"No, but you do. And I like fresh water."

With that, he tossed another grin over his shoulder at her, then leapt headlong through the open window.

Jane chuckled to herself as she headed for the kitchen.

Making tea, with water from a waterfall? It was hardly a conventional, proper English life - but that wasn't at all a bad thing.

Quite the contrary.

* * *

_Author's note: there you have it, details of Tarzan and Jane's sleeping arrangements. You're welcome._

_In one episode of the tv series_ ('Tarzan and the Beast from Below')_, it was shown that they at least sleep in the same room, so I'm not pulling it out of nowhere (they share a really sweet smooch in that episode, too!) I like that they're a rare Disney couple that are actual portrayed as married in official canon; other films show the characters still courting, or later as parents; but in such cases they usually either go through relationship angst better suited to teenagers, or take a backseat role in the plot, with the focus on their children. By contrast, '_Legend of Tarzan'_ very much focuses on the dynamics of Tarzan and Jane's marriage, which is very refreshing. _

_To anybody wondering, Tarzan's 'bed' comment was meant in all innocence - though you can decide for yourself how Jane chose to take it ;) ~ W.J._


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

In the time that they had been married, they had developed a comfortable morning routine.

While Jane fussed over the tea-making process, Tarzan sat on his haunches in front of the stove, looking to all appearances like an impatient child. She heard him sniff the air decisively. She knew exactly what was coming.

"Do you think it's ready yet?" he asked her.

She glanced at the carriage clock that stood on the nearby dresser; it was an old travel model of her father's, brought over with them from England. The stove, on the other hand, belonged to Tarzan's parents - or, at least, came from the ship that had brought them to Africa. How they had managed to salvage it from the sunken wreck, and stopped it from rusting in all that salt water, was quite beyond her. She was just thankful that they had managed to keep it - for her own sake, and for his. Fresh fruit was lovely, but not very substantial; she needed to keep her athletic hubby well-fed.

"It should be done by now," she told him. "You can take it out - carefully."

He raised an eyebrow at her added warning. She supposed she really didn't have to bother with it by now, but she couldn't quite help it.

* * *

The first time she had baked something in the oven, in his eagerness - and, she suspected, an effort to show off - he had attempted to pick up the red-hot loaf tin with his bare hands. Needless to say, the bread had ended up on the floor, and he had learned a swift, painful lesson on how an oven worked.

"I didn't know," he had said, as she bathed his hands in cold water; he had winced, but otherwise refused to show any signs of hurt.

"Of course you didn't," she had told him as she tended those red, raw hands as gently as she could. She had to resist the urge to chastise him, like she would a disobedient child; he had looked so much like one as he meekly held his injured hands out for her, a sulky expression on his face. "I would have warned you, if you'd given me the time. You just went ahead and did it before I got the chance to say anything."

"I was trying to help," he had mumbled, his head bowed low. His face, nearly hidden behind his thickly-matted mane of hair, had looked almost as red as his hands.

She hadn't been able to help but smile at that. "Well, we can just put it down to learning experience, I guess. At least these burns aren't too bad. Now, stay still; I need to bandage them up."

He had refused the bandages, protesting that they would interfere with his grip. Instead, she had spent the next week watching him bite his lip every time he took hold of a branch, worrying about the risk of infection all the while. It hadn't escaped her notice that he had started gripping vines with his toes far more often than usual; yet he refused to mention any discomfort. He had merely given her a look that was half-nonchalance, half-obstinance as he dove straight into the thick of the forest with his feet readily flexed, just as reckless as ever.

Luckily, his hands were very tough. The burns had healed quickly, becoming just another part of the scar tissue he had already acquired, built up from years of tree-top acrobatics.

She just hoped that the lesson he learned about handling hot things stayed with him as well.

* * *

Now, as always, she watched him open the oven door with bated breath. He used a forked stick to take the bread out; balancing it expertly, he flipped it in the air. As it came down, he caught it by the tin, his hands wrapped - thankfully - in a tea towel for protection. The bread was flipped out onto a waiting plate; the still-smoking tin went straight into the sink.

He grinned cheekily at her as he carried the bread and jam over to the table. She simply sighed, putting the lid on the teapot and setting it on its tray; he made a second trip across with it for her.

_At least he developed a healthy respect for the stove out of that incident._

As his teacher as well as his wife, she couldn't complain about him as a student (nor as a husband, for that matter). He learned a lesson well, and wasn't ashamed to ask if he didn't understand something.

That was not to say that he wasn't a little too proud at times - _when you're Lord of the Jungle_, she reasoned to herself, _you really can't help but be a bit over-confident_ \- especially given his amazing prowess. He was able to easily do things that most men would deem to be impossible - or, at the very least, improbable. Even now, she still marvelled at the way he effortlessly soared through the treetops, casually flinging himself from one vine to the next.

Even though he had confidence in spades, on the rare occasions when he was wrong, he was not so arrogant that he couldn't admit it. Like the time he hadn't wanted her take care of the lost leopard cub, just because it was a leopard; or the time he had refused to attend the picnic she had thrown, just because she had asked him to wear a suit for the occasion. In both cases, he had admitted he was at fault and apologized profusely to her. Whatever small amount of bravado he possessed, he still had a proportionate amount of humility in him. _Growing up in the jungle will do that,_ she supposed. Underestimating the danger of a situation - or overestimating yourself - could very well be deadly.

As that first, ill-fated loaf of banana bread had been forced to learn.

The batch she had made this time was in prime condition: pillowy-soft inside, pleasantly crusty on the outside, still lightly steaming and giving off a heady aroma of ripe bananas. She smiled contentedly over her teacup as she watched him crouch upon his chair - having first drawn hers out for her - and lean over the fresh loaf, sniffing appreciatively.

She had just cut the first slice for him, and was setting it on his plate, when a voice called from outside:

"Tarzan! Tarzan, my friend, are you there?"

"Always at the best possible time," Jane murmured good-naturedly, placing a saucer over her cup as a lid, to keep her tea warm.

Tarzan was already through the door that led out onto the terrace. "Who is that?" he wondered out loud.

Now that Jane thought about it, the voice had spoken in English, not Gorilla, nor Tantor's trumpet; and it certainly hadn't been Daddy. Yet it sounded vaguely familiar...

A little warily, she followed him out onto the deck. He was perched upon the rail, peering down at the foot of their tree. He beckoned her over with a wide grin.

"It's Basuli," he said, pointing downward with one half-furled knuckle.

Following the line of his gesture, Jane saw, far below, the top of a dark head and a flash of red cloth. A moment later, a second figure came into view between the branches, long braids of black hair trailing behind it. She saw whoever it was reach out and take Basuli's hand.

"Are you sure this is the right place?"

Jane just managed to make out this quieter, feminine voice over the sound of the nearby waterfall. "Naoh is with him!" she said, smiling just as much as Tarzan. "They must have come to visit us!"

Tarzan leaned a little further over the railing. "Basuli! Naoh!" he called, in his powerful voice. It clearly carried to the couple below; they stopped, glanced around for a moment, then finally looked up.

"Tarzan!" Basuli shouted, with a laugh. "We were told you lived by the big tree just past the ravine, not _in_ it!"

"Jane! Hello up there!" Naoh called, waving up at them. "How can you possibly live in such a high place?"

Jane laughed. "You get used to it," she replied, in all honesty. "Are you coming up?"

"I'll send the boat down for you." Tarzan had already begun to lower the dinghy that was suspended from a pulley beside the deck. It functioned very effectively as an elevator; it was even strong enough to bring Tantor up to see them.

"No need," they heard Basuli call from below. "I can make my own way."

"What about-" Jane started to say; before she could finish, she heard Naoh give a startled cry. It seemed Basuli was answering her unfinished question: he had picked up his wife, and was steadily climbing up the tree with her draped across his shoulders.

"Headstrong as ever, I see," Jane said, quietly enough for only her husband to hear.

Tarzan gave a nod of agreement, frowning slightly to himself. "There's a lot of moss on that side of the trunk at the moment, covering some of the hand-holds. I hope he-"

Just as he spoke, there was a loud gasp from below; they both hurriedly peered over the railing.

They saw Basuli's body swinging wildly beneath them; he was clinging to the tree with just one hand, a clod of loose moss clutched in the other. The sudden movement dislodged Naoh. She gripped desperately at her husband's shoulder, but couldn't latch on, continuing to slip-

"Naoh!" Jane screamed, as she watched the woman begin to fall.

Basuli, having regained his grip on the trunk, was looking after his wife with a horrified gaze. He was about to launch himself after her, when a ringing yell from above interrupted him.

Tarzan dove over the side of the deck, falling through the branches at an incredible speed.

Naoh was far below him, but he had launched himself into his headlong descent with such force, he soon intercepted her. Jane heard her cry out as he snatched her up in midair; a moment later, his hand shot out, grasping the vine that he knew would be there, hanging just about ten feet short of the forest floor. He used their momentum to swing from it in a graceful arc, reversing their direction. Naoh gave a scream, more in surprise than in fright, as they soared upwards, Tarzan's hand firmly latched onto the back of her dress. He dropped the vine, expertly turning a somersault that carried them both towards the waiting dinghy. Their impact as they landed in it made it fall a few feet, but he instantly grabbed the rope and began to pull it hand over hand, winching them higher.

"Are you alright?" he asked Naoh, who was sprawled weakly in the bottom of the boat.

"I think I am," she replied, with a note of disbelief in her voice. Now that she was safe, she looked over the side of the boat in wonder. "What an amazing use for a canoe!" she said, peering up at the pulley mechanism that he was using to raise them.

"My parents made it," Tarzan told her, proudly.

"How clever!" Naoh fixed a grateful gaze upon him. "And how fortunate that they have such a brave son! Thank you for saving me."

He gave a modest shrug. "I've had some practice at it," was all he said.

* * *

He was thinking of the time he had saved Jane - though which time, he couldn't quite say, there had been so many of them now. Perhaps _that _time...

That time when, climbing up a steep cliff, the rock ledge beneath her feet had crumbled and fallen away, nearly taking her with it. His hand had instantly shot out and found hers, pulling her up beside him.

"Thank you," she had told him, a little breathlessly, as he had taken her arms and securely anchored them around his own shoulders, making sure her grip was strong before he began to climb again, with her now clinging securely to his back. "You must get tired of doing that!"

By 'that', she had meant constantly saving her - snatching her out of perilous drops, fighting off the myriad beasts that would threaten her, preventing her own clumsiness from getting the better of her.

"Not really," he had replied, as he had clambered up the sheer rock face with her weight resting comfortably against him, her chin propped upon his shoulder, her cheek nestling against his.

What he had meant by that was: _Not at all - but I would rather that you never came into harm's way to begin with. Not if it can be helped._

* * *

They soon drew level with the edge of the deck. Tarzan tied off the rope, then helped Naoh to clamber out of the boat. She was still a little shaky; she clung to Jane when she came forward to hug her.

"It's so good to see you!" Jane said, giving her arm a comforting pressure. Having been similarly rescued countless times by her husband, she could well sympathize with the fright - and perhaps, just a bit of a thrill - that came with the experience.

"Where is Basuli?" Naoh asked, a worried note in her voice. Jane shared her misgivings; in her concern for Naoh, she had lost sight of him...

"I came to meet you."

Basuli stood leaning against the deck's railing; he had safely made the rest of the climb. Naoh went to him and took his hands in hers.

"Next time you wish to carry me," she said, with laughter in her voice, "perhaps you could warn me first, so I can get a better hold."

"It only happened because the trunk was so slippery," he retorted, impatiently brushing her off. "If the bark had been dry, I could have easily managed to get both of us here."

He looked more than a little grumpy, glowering at them all from beneath petulant brows. Jane and Tarzan exchanged glances. Neither of them took offense; they knew that Basuli was angry at himself, not at them. Naoh, meanwhile, stared at the floor. Her dark eyes, filled with relief a moment ago, now looked troubled - almost teary.

"Well," Jane said, as brightly as she could, trying to dispel the awkward atmosphere that had settled upon them. "Now that you've made it safely, you had best come in. You've come such a long way, and the sun is barely up; you'll want to rest. You're just in time for breakfast, too. I've made some fresh banana bread, and I'll get out some more teacups..."

She took Naoh gently by the arm and steered her indoors. She seemed to have recovered well, but she had just had quite a fright. Jane was sure that she could use a good, strong cup of tea. Besides, they could all do with some food; especially Basuli, given the foul mood he was in.

Behind them, Tarzan fell into step beside Basuli. "It's good to see you," he said, with a warm smile.

"You mean it's good to see someone who doesn't climb as well as you," Basuli retorted.

The acerbity in his voice made Tarzan stop short. He eyed his friend carefully, trying to figure out just what was bothering him.

Basuli must have been very embarrassed; he had looked incapable in front of them, and, far worse, he had endangered his wife. He seemed angry at Tarzan for saving her, but Tarzan knew this couldn't be the case; the only other alternative would have been to let Naoh fall, which he certainly wouldn't have wanted. Deep down, he must be glad that Naoh was alright, though he didn't seem to want to admit it. If his pride was smarting, the best thing Tarzan could do, as a friend, was to try to ease the wound.

"You climb very well," he told the Waziri warrior. In the past, the pair had been quite competitive with one another. He was well aware of Basuli's formidable skill - as well as how easily his ego could bruise.

"I can climb better than that," Basuli muttered in reply. "I _should _have climbed better than that. If you could manage it, so should I."

Jane had been trying to teach him tact; thankfully, Tarzan was a fast learner. "Right now," he said, "I could manage some breakfast. I'm sure you could, too."

Something in what he said - the sincerity of his tone, or the content of his words - seemed to put Basuli in a slightly better mood. "Yes," he said, with a shadow of a smile. "I could manage that."

Walking side by side, they followed their wives into the tree house.

* * *

_Author's note: a few explanations, on how the story relates to the tv series -_

_In 'Seeds of Destruction', Tarzan and Jane take banana bread on their picnic, and make sandwiches besides. Unless they buy bread from Dumont all the time (he doesn't look like the baking type) they must have an oven in their treehouse. The only explanation I could come up with was that Tarzan's parents managed to salvage one from the sunken ship._

_I have no explanation for why the Waziri tribe speak English. I've wracked my brain, and I still have no idea. In the original Tarzan novels they spoke Ape, but this wouldn't explain how Dr Doyle was able to understand them. If anyone else can figure it out, please let me know._

_Jane's comment about the leopard cub is, obviously, a reference to the 'Lost Cub' episode; the picnic she then mentions took place in the 'British Invasion' episode. Tarzan's memory of saving Jane from falling is from the 'Lost City of Opar' episode._


End file.
